


The Case of The Silver Car

by Imionn (The_River_Blaire)



Series: River. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_River_Blaire/pseuds/Imionn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River has been living on her own for about a month now, and she has managed to get herself in serious trouble and the only place she can turn is Sherlock, but will he be able to help?</p><p> </p><p>This the first in a series centered around my OC, River.<br/>I hope you enjoy it.</p><p>Note. This story is organic and is always being edited and changing. Sorry.<br/>Note. The warnings occur later in the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fleeing

**Author's Note:**

> I promise, we will get the canon characters soon. I just need to give you guys some back story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she was sure he was gone she sprinted down the block. About two blocks down she made a left, and slowed as she approached an old abandoned building.

River was a defiant girl, that was probably why she got herself in so deep all the time, this was one of those times.

She pushed down on the pedals of her bike as hard as she could willing it to go faster, constantly looking over her shoulder for the silver car. She could see it, closer than she had hoped. The world blurred by as she sped her pedaling trying to pull ahead. That is when hell got hotter, the chain flew off of, losing control of the bike she hit a slick patch of ice and flew off of the bike, skidding along the asphalt. Her head smacked against the hard ground and blood ran down her arm, her ankle screamed in pain, and her side felt as though she had been hit by a bus. The car grew, quickly, closer and closer. Fearing for her life, River stumbled to the closest open establishment. She ducked through the doorway not even looking to see where she was entering. She limped over to the wall, and finally looked to see where she was.

She was in "Lucky Leprechaun's Tavern". The bar was dark apart from a few lights hanging down from the ceiling, some men cheered at a game of football on the television, there was a girl and a guy playing a game of pool and various other people sitting on stools, and sitting in booths that lined the wall. Looking around trying to figure out what to do. She noticed two drunks approaching her. "Hello little lady." One of them slurred. She looked at them, they appeared to be bikers, and extremely drunk.

“Ya look lost.” The other one said. A plan weaved its way into River’s mind.

“Yes, I am. Please, can you help me?” She said in the meekest, scaredest voice she could pull off and lied smoothly. “I was with my... my brother, and somehow we got separated, he doesn’t have his phone on him, he never does... Do you... do you think you can take me home?”

“Oh, Darlin’.” The first one said. “‘course I can. Follow me.” He stumbled out to the parking lot and handed River a helmet from off of his seat. “Where ya live?” The drunken biker asked River.

River lied quickly,”53 W. Commons Road.”

“Okay, hop on.” The man told her as she stepped onto the bike and sat down. The man pulled out and sped off down the road. Panic raced through her when she realized how wrong this could go. She was on the back of some stranger’s motorcycle, and on top of that he was drunk. But the back of a drunk guy’s motorcycle, no matter what happened, was a better prospect than being in the back of the silver car.

The world blurred around her, as the motorcycle flew past businesses and flats. Pretty soon they turned onto W. Commons Road. After about a minute of driving down W. Commons Road they stopped in front of building 53. River popped off of the bike, “Thank you.” She said to the man. The man started off and River watched as he disappeared into off in the distance. When she was sure he was gone she sprinted down the block. About two blocks down she made a left, and slowed as she approached an old abandoned building. The dull red paint was chipping off of the outside, there were spots where the roof had caved in, the windows were boarded up with old, moldy wood. The door was being held on my one hinge; the entire building looked like it was about to crumble. River approached the door and gently pushed it open. Looking in tentatively, River stepped into the building.

Just inside the door was a hallway, There were stairs on the right side of the hallway leading up to the second and crumbling third floors. To the left of the hallway were doorways leading to various rooms and linen closets. The hallway was covered in old, peeling, yellow, floral wallpaper. The floor was covered in a thick, damp rug that used to be white, but was now a dirty beige. The entire building smelled of mold. River walked down the hall past empty cupboards and rooms, to the second to last doorway. She stepped into what appeared to be some sort of living room. An old couch with spots of fabric missing and some of its wooden base showing sat in the center of the room, a thin moth eaten blanket sat on one of its arms, and an old bathroom cabinet missing its door sat next to it. This room too had an old, damp, used-to-be-white rug and peeling floral yellow wallpaper. River limped over to the little cabinet and pulled out a torch laying it on top of the cabinet so she could find it when it got dark. She flopped down on the couch. Dust rose in a cloud around River sending her into a fit of coughing. Now that the adrenaline had stopped rushing through her body she felt the outcome of the bike accident. Her head pulsed and she felt faint, her arm had slowed in bleeding but her left ankle felt shattered, and her ribs felt like they were about to cave in on themselves. She rose, whimpering when she accidentally put too much weight on her ankle. She limped out of the room and into the next doorway. This one was an old bathroom. A cracked porcelain sink sat under an old medicine cabinet, the mirror was shattered in places, the place where the toilet used to be was empty apart from a few pipes that used to be connected to the toilet. The shower was missing the shower head. She walked over to the medicine cabinet and pulled it open. Inside were a few things, some aspirin that had expired months ago that she had taken from someone’s garbage, an old broken comb she had taken from a dumpster from behind a barber shop, and some ripped ace bandages she had taken from out of a doctor's trash. She took an aspirin from the bottle and the ace bandages from the cabinet and closed it. The took the aspirin dry and wrapped her abdomen and ankle with the ace bandages. She limped out and over to one of the linen closets and pulled out a scarf she had stolen from a street fair in central London and tied it around her right arm to act as a makeshift bandage. She limped to the last doorway in the hall, this was what was once a kitchen, but it now lacked almost everything that made it a kitchen. There was no refrigerator, no stove or microwave, a broken metal sink and only one cabinet. She limped over and opened it. Within it held old rotting food that various restaurants had thrown out for one reason or another. A few mouthfuls of moldy bread, a small piece of festering meat, a rotten apple, as well as a rotten pepper. She pulled off a small piece of moldy bread and nibbled on it as she limped back into the 'living room.' She laid down on the couch finishing up the last of the tiny morsel of bread. She soon drifted off into a fitful sleep.

River jerked awake and shot up, wincing as pain pierced her side and through her head. She slowly got off the couch, trying not to put too much weight on her ankle. She limped over to the window, the sun was just rising in the east, snow covered the ground in a thick white blanket, softening the sounds from outside. Sighing she limped to the 'bathroom' and took another aspirin wishing that she had some decent supplies. She limped over to the 'kitchen' to find mice and rats eating the rotten food that was in the cabinet.

"Great." She muttered. "Not like I needed that food." She managed to salvage a single mouthful of bread. She savoured the last piece of moldy bread, then dealt with the rodent problem.

She knew she had to find help. Those men wouldn't stop until they had her, and she wasn't sure how much more of this she could survive. She limped, again, back into the 'living room' and sunk into the couch. "He won't help." She muttered to herself thinking about who she could go to. "Hell, he wouldn't even look at you..." she trailed off, remembering the one person who could help her. Sherlock.


	2. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She gave a cheesy, fake smile that was quickly swept off her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, but it is just sort of a filler chapter  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> If anyone is actually reading this, we will get to the canon characters in the next two chapters, so, bear with me.

River stared in front of her, at the old peeling wallpaper and the dust that swirled in the early morning light. River shivered and pulled the old blanket up and tightly around her. She really didn’t want to go to Sherlock, but she wasn’t sure where else to go. She refused to go to her father, after all, he was why she was in this situation to begin with, and she never really had any friends, so there was no one to turn to, only Sherlock.

River looked around her dismal surroundings, she knew the men in the silver car would find her here. And, sometimes, she wished they would. That they would finally find her, finally catch her. No more running, no more hiding, no more living like a trapped animal. But, other times, she just wished to remain hidden. That they lose her trail, and that she would be able to live again. It was a constant battle raging in her head; live or survive.

River sighed and heaved herself up limping once again to the 'bathroom'. She opened the cracked medicine cabinet and pulled out the broken comb, she closed it and tried to work the comb through the matted mess of raven black waves. It was a useless attempt, her thick hair broke some of the teeth, eating the little black plastic. Sighing she put the comb back in the cabinet and looked at herself in the broken mirror, the cracks distorting her face. She gave a cheesy, fake smile that was quickly swept off her face. Furious, she hit the mirror with the side of her fist. Pain shot through her hand as she shattered the mirror. She stared dully at the blood as it welled up and stained her hand. She glanced around the bathroom, an old sheer curtain riddled with holes where moths had eaten it was the only thing there. It would have to do. She ripped it down and wound it around her hand.

That was it, she knew she had to get help, she would end up accidentally killing herself in a fit of rage.

River crept up to the door and opened it slowly, she stuck her head out, just in time to see the back of a silver car disappear around the corner. The silver car...


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No, I...." she trailed off. "I am your dead niece."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally reach the canon characters....

River limped down the busy streets, dodging in between alleys and doorways when she thought she caught a glimpse the silver car following her. People would look at her, giving her pitiful glances; the poor, injured, homeless girl, but no one ever stopped to help  
She walked for miles, limping along the snowy sidewalk, people parted allowing her to pass. And, after hours of walking she finally reached Baker Street. She hurried a little farther down the road until she reached 221b, taking a deep breath she stepped up to the door, and knocked lightly. A kind face opened the door, "Oh, hello." Mrs. Hudson said, in a sweet but surprised voice.  
"Is Sherlock here?" River asked in a barely audible voice.  
"Pardon me dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked.  
"Is Sherlock here?" River asked a little louder.  
"Oh, I'm sorry, he had to pop off quickly, but he shall return shortly. " Mrs. Hudson said. River's heart sank, she couldn't stay out here, they would find her here in the busy streets of london, the men with the silver car had eyes all over the city. River gave Mrs. Hudson a pleading look, "Oh, sweetie, Come in. You can wait in my flat until Sherlock returns."  
"Thank you." River said relieved to be out of the cold streets and into the safety of the building.  
Mrs. Hudson lead River to her flat, it was cozy and inviting, two plush, velvet arm chairs sat in front of a blazing fire, the walls were a crisp dark green, and on the floor was a soft rug that matched the walls. The flat smelled of pine and vanilla. River looked longingly to the maroon armchairs, but remained standing all her weight on her right leg, Mrs. Hudson noticed River's awkward stance and the longing look in her eyes when she saw the chairs. Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Sit deary." The elderly woman said.  
River looked at Mrs. Hudson then to the chair then back to Mrs. Hudson. "Th-thank you." River replied before scuttling over to the armchair and curling up in front of the warm fire. She let the warmth soak into her cold body, and she smiled.  
****************************  
She soon heard a door open and slam shut, "Deary, it seems Sherlock has returned." Mrs. Hudson came over touching River's arm.  
"Okay." River said rising from the armchair and limped towards the door. "Oh," River said turning to Mrs. Hudson. "Thank you." She said smiling at the old woman.

River hobbled up the stairs and knocked on Sherlock's door. "Enter." She heard a deep voice call from behind it. River pushed the door open and slowly stepped in. Sherlock looked up from his paper. "Oh, hello." He said, "what do you need." River's hopes fell, Sherlock hadn't recognized her.  
She looked down, "Um, Sherlock?" She asked quietly.  
"Yes?" Sherlock responded.  
River looked up at him and swallowed hard. "It- its River." She said.  
"What about my dead niece?" Sherlock asked, now interested, what did this girl have to do with River?  
"No, I...." she trailed off. "I am your dead niece."


	4. Warm Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John looked at the girl standing before him. Sherlock knew that John's doctor instinct had kicked in, and he was analyzing River. Malnutrition, dehydration, sleep deprivation, broken ankle, cracked ribs, likely an infection developing in the wound on her arm, among a list of many other maladies.

"I am sorry, could you repeat that again?" Sherlock asked, genuinely baffled.

"I am your dead niece...” River swallowed thickly, “I'm River."

"But that's impossible, she's dead." Sherlock answered back in disbelief. "She has been dead over three months now."

"They never did find a body, now, did they?" River asked.

"But, you can't be. It's impossible." He repeated.

"No, I am. I am here, real, and alive." She said.

Sherlock gave up fighting this, after all, once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth; what could this girl possibly gain from pretending to be River.

"River." Sherlock whispered, taking in the thin, broken version of his once glowing niece. "What happened?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John wandered into the living room, cutting off whatever answer River was about to give. "Um, hello." John said surprised to River.

John looked at the girl standing before him. Sherlock knew that John's doctor instinct had kicked in, and he was analyzing River. Malnutrition, dehydration, sleep deprivation, broken ankle, cracked ribs, likely an infection developing in the wound on her arm, among a list of many other maladies. John looked from River to Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock said "meet my niece, River."

John stared at River, who was now shyly looking down at her feet. "You have a niece?"

"In a way." Sherlock replied.

"In a way, what does that mean?" John asked confused.

"Mycroft was... ‘friend's’ with her parents who were killed in a car accident when she was eight, and it was her father's dying request that Mycroft took her so she didn't have to go through the foster system." Sherlock answered. "His adopted daughter is my adopted niece."

John pondered this for a second, for as long as he has been living with Sherlock he couldn’t recall any mention of this girl, ever.

"If she is Mycroft's adopted daughter, why does she look like that?" John asked motioning to River's over sized tee-shirt, torn, faded blue jeans, ripped grey hoodie that was covered in blood, and her long dark matted hair.

"That is a very good question." Sherlock responded, "care to shine some light on that?" He asked looking at River.

"Now?" She said looking at Sherlock, hoping that Sherlock wouldn’t expect her to talk.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked.

"I am a touch hungry." She replied quietly.

"John," Sherlock said, looking at his flat mate. "Go fetch River something from the kitchen."

"Okay." John answered obediently, walking into the kitchen.

John opened the fridge. There wasn't much in there. A few slices of turkey, some mayonnaise, A bag of toes, and Sherlock had bought some milk. It had a note on it with Sherlock's angular writing, _'There John. Happy?'_ John smirked at that. He located some bread from the cupboard, and a plate and cup. He poured a cup of milk and put together a sandwich with the turkey and mayonnaise. John emerged from the kitchen, with milk and sandwich in hand, to Sherlock and River staring intently at each other. "Um, Here." John said handing River the sandwich and milk. River took them gratefully and nibbled at the sandwich as if a full mouthful could kill her.

She looked back at Sherlock. "May I stay here tonight?" She asked simply.

"Yes. Of course, but why?" Sherlock asked, an almost non-existent hint of worry in his voice.

"It's a long story." River replied taking a sip of her milk. "And I don't want to tell it." She replied shortly.

Sherlock shrugged, returning to his paper, and River focused on her sandwich, her bites had moved from tentative nibbles to ravenous mouthfuls.


	5. Fixing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock looked at his niece, “What have you gotten yourself into?”  
> River sighed, “A lot, I suppose...”

River finished her sandwich in a few moments and quaffed down the milk. She looked up at John. "Thank you." She smiled warmly. She moved to put the glass down on the coffee table in front of her and winced as pain shot up her side, her face distorted by the pain in her ribs.

"Do you want me to take a look at that?" John asked carefully.

"No, not much you can do for cracked ribs, but if you could take a look at my arm, hand, and ankle, I would be very grateful." She responded, looking up at John.

"Yes, of course." He replied. He headed upstairs to his room where he kept his medical bag. He quickly grabbed it and hurried back down stairs.

He worked first on her hand, gently unwrapping the old curtain. He examined the cut on her hand, and some mirror glinted dully in the wound. Leaning down, the army doctor pulled some tweezers from his bag and began delicately pulling the shards from River’s hand. When he had finished he pulled fresh gauze from his bag and wrapped her hand. Moving on to her arm, he removed the scarf turned bandage to reveal a long deep gash running from her wrist to her elbow. John rose and walked into the kitchen, returning with some moist paper towels. Sitting back down he began cleaning the wound, dabbing it lightly with the towels. “This may sting a little.” He said as he pulled some disinfectant from the bag. River winced as the disinfectant danced over her wound. Pity filled John’s eyes as he pulled out a needle and some thread. River recoiled, terrified by the needle.

Sherlock had been paying very little attention to the preceding, but he caught the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. “River?” He asked looking up from his paper.

River just sat there staring at the needle.

“River, what’s wrong?” John asked as he threaded the needle.

“It’s just th- no, it’s stupid.” River sighed, tentatively putting her arm back out for John. At this, Sherlock looked back at his newspaper. River closed her eyes as John began to stitch, trying not to picture the needles from the men. John finished and looked up at River, frowning. What had made her so terrified of the needle?

Sighing, he slowly lifted her ankle to the coffee table, and carefully he removed the trainer from her foot, and gently began unwrapping her ankle. The skin beneath the bandage was bruised and terribly swollen. “How long ago did this happen?” John asked examining the swollen ankle.

“Last night.” River replied.

John looked at River, then rose again to go back into the kitchen, returning again, this time with a rolled up hand towel, “Here, you might want this...” He said handing the towel to River.

River took the towel looking inquisitively up at John, “Why?”

“The bone is broken, I need to realign it before it heals improperly.” John said martially.

Sherlock put down his paper, looking between John, River’s ankle, and River. “Do you need to re break it?” He asked, this time you could hear a twinge of worry in his voice.

“No, it hasn’t gotten there yet, but it is still going to hurt.” John replied.

River looked at the towel in her hands, understanding flooded into her face and she put it in her mouth.

John looked at River and looked down gingerly grabbing her ankle. He looked up at the young girl one more time before pulling the ankle into place into place.

River bit down hard on the towel as it muffled her shriek. Sherlock looked at her pity enveloping his face for a moment before he resumed his normal mask of indifference. John pulled out some more cotton gauze from his bag and some plaster. The army doctor wrapped the ankle with the gauze and the plaster as quickly as he could. Avoiding looking at Sherlock or River he quickly cleaned up and lugged the medical bag back upstairs.

Sherlock looked at his niece, “What have you gotten yourself into?”

River sighed, “A lot, I suppose...”


	6. Concussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, but I needed some sort of filler chapter...
> 
> This isn't my most popular story at all, but for those of you that have read my story. Thanks, I really appreciate it.

John came down the stairs, back into the main room.

“What _don’t_ you keep in that magic bag of yours?” She laughed.

“The army taught me you can never be under prepared, and when you live with this idiot,” John answered motioning to Sherlock, “you never know what you may need.”

River giggled warmly.

“You were in the army?” She asked, fixing her eyes on John.

“Army doctor.” John answered.

River smiled, “What’s it like, over in Afghanistan?” River asked, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“It’s bloody hot,” John joked, “But it is scary, and dangerous.” He said getting more serious. “I’ve watched countless men die, blow up from IEDs or mines, get shot to death... even got shot myself.”

“Where?” River asked with genuine interest.

“Shoulder.” John replied simply.

River nodded. Her vision blurred a little, she grew slightly dizzy, and her head began to throb again, but she didn’t say anything, not wanting to be doted on anymore. But that was futile, John was an army doctor, he could tell her head wasn’t quite right.

“Did you hit your head recently?” He asked looking directly into River’s eyes.

“Um, yea.” She replied as her vision swam. The pain in her head had gotten worse very quickly and blackness was creeping into her line of sight.

“Why didn’t you te- River?” John asked as she began to sway slightly her eyes fluttering.

“I’m fi-” She started before blackness over took her consciousness.

Sherlock watched as his niece wavered and fell sideways. He and John shared a concerned glance before John lifted the girl, “Bring her to my room.” Sherlock directed.

John carried River to Sherlock’s room and laid her gently on the bed.

Sherlock and John left the room, Sherlock closing the door slightly as they left. “John, what is wrong with her?” He asked worry twinged his voice.

“Um, what the situation was, I’ve got no idea, but she got herself in whatever it was pretty deep. On top of the injuries I could fix, there are still the cracked ribs, and she was showing symptoms of a concussion...” John trailed off as Sherlock peeked his head through the door.

“What should we do?” Sherlock whispered.


End file.
